Off the Wagon, Part 2: Torpor

There were times in those days in Pinewood that Travis wondered what it all meant. He had thought he found the answer a couple of times, but each time it turned out to be a delusion. It came to a point when there was nothing he could believe for fear that it would be as it had always been in the past, a lie. It came down to the fact that there was no answer, no truth, no purpose.
Pinewood was a growing suburban shithole, full of middle class white trash families, heavily seasoned with a good number of corporate drones with six figure salaries trying to escape the filth and decay of their workplace. Hoping that by leaving the city they would somehow find something better away from the huddled masses of urban life. Unfortunately for them, the nature of progress is that when one person finds something good, others spread like a fungus to get their piece, eventually crushing it under the weight of their own greed. So Pinewood found its incapable fate, and became a thriving backwoods city.
With the increased population came higher crime rates, more murders, more drug use among the children, overcrowded schools. Beautiful scenery destroyed by the necessity of four lane highways. Travis had watched it happen around him, but was not concerned or even angered. He had never really liked living in a farce and was happy that humanity had finally destroyed Pinewood too. It was almost as if the city was reflecting the corruption and apathy that was growing in Travis, and that gave him comfort.
The phone rang, but Travis didn’t answer it. He didn’t really feel like talking. He was sick with hindsight at the moment and did not need any physical reinforcement to his psychic torment. His over critical nature certainly did nothing to help his problems, but there was nothing he could do about.
It was late in the afternoon on a perfect winter day. The clean mountain air was gently blowing through Pinewood carrying with it the smell of purity, slightly tainted by the ever encroaching smog. Travis’s mind was awash with imagined evils and subsequent fears, so he decided he needed to do something so he wouldn’t be forced to think so much.
He decided to go to Joey’s house. Joey was exactly what he needed when he got in these moods. Joey was, for lack of a better term, content. He was optimistic about the world, and why not, his father was a big deal in some advertising firm so he never wanted for anything. He didn’t have to work, he had a nice car, a beautiful girlfriend (who was also incidentally disgustingly rich) and a fucking law degree that he didn’t even use. Not to imply there was any love lost between them, Travis considered Joey as one of the greatest human beings on the planet, but their experiences and ideologies where so contradictory that they hardly agreed on anything. Travis was sure that’s why they had been friends for so long. The problem with having things in common with people is that you eventually see yourself in your friends and you are constantly reminded of the things you hate in yourself by seeing them in others.
Travis put on his black Doc Martins. The trendy kind that looked fashionable and had none of the rebellion of the laceable combat boots, but they were comfortable, and they were heavy. It hurt when you kicked someone with them, and that made them functional as well as stylish. It was time to get out of the house and do something. Travis double checked his idea to go to Joey’s. The simple fact was that he didn’t want to see Joey.
He wanted to see Cara. Joey’s girlfriend was just too perfect not to want. She was one of those people that only women can be. Everything to everyone. At least everything to every man. Travis was sure she had a lot of female enemies. Girl’s were like that. They hated with jealousy while men hated with ignorance. Every guy who ever met her fell in love with Cara. They also thought she loved them too, Joey got in a lot of fights over his woman, but that was the other reason men hated, pride.
She was beautiful. Physically perfect. Perfect smile, perfect eyes, perfect ass, perfect tits, perfect hair, perfect nose, and she was rich, disgustingly so. Her father was one of the richest men in town. She had a laugh that could make a man happy to die, she could drink like an old man, and she could fuck. Jesus she could do that. She made him feel invincible, she made him feel alive, happy, and miserable.
She had made it clear that that was a one time mistake. No, she had called it a lapse in judgment. She had not bolstered that perspective with her eyes. They looked more like a regret that she had not met Travis first. A regret that he was not rich. A regret that she was as fundamentally a superficial as anyone.
He hadn’t held it against her, not since that night. Joey would kill him if he ever found out, but Joey was an asshole. He treated her like the trophy they both knew she was, and it hurt Travis to see her unhappy, even if it was her own fault. Even if that was what she wanted. Joey was his best friend. Travis wondered at the morality of his lust. Once one discovers perfection, how can he ever settle for less?
The phone rang again. This time Travis answered it. It was the Devil calling to say he wanted to meet for breakfast.